


Show Me Where You Hide, Tell You Where I Bleed

by wemadguys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Continuation, F/M, First Kiss, Post ADWD, Watch as I skim over important plot details in a single sentence so I can get to the fun stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 19:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wemadguys/pseuds/wemadguys
Summary: Before this moment he would have laughed in the man’s face who claimed he craved the maid of Tarth in this way, but the only one laughing now is the voice of Tyrion that lives in Jaime’s mind.





	Show Me Where You Hide, Tell You Where I Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> This came to be because I haven't been able to stop thinking about how the dialogue between Luke and Lorelai from Gilmore Girls right before their first kiss would be so completely PERFECT for Jaime and Brienne. If I could, I'd rip it from Gilmore Girls canon and gift it to them. For reference, the only two lines and/or inspiration taken from GG are "what are you doing?" and "Will you just stand still?"
> 
> ALSO: canon compliant gendered name-calling, in case that's a trigger for anyone
> 
> ALSO ALSO: Title taken from "Holy Roller" by Awolnation

"Lady Brienne, I would have words with you."

"Yes," she breathes, cold air whooshing from her lips as she looks up from where she has been saddling her horse. He is struck, then, by the silence of the morning, by the crunch of their feet in the hard snow as they walk. They have passed a harrowing turn of the moon together, first surviving the vengeance of Lady Stoneheart and then sheer luck having led them to the Vale to rescue Sansa Stark. He has always suspected they would make a good team, he and the wench, and she has proven him right. They have scarce left one another's side in all this time, eating, planning, sleeping and fighting together.

But now their paths needs must diverge.

They come to a small clearing away from the eyes and ears of both their bands of men, each comprised of Jaime's own soldiers who will escort the parties to their respective destinations. _Why have I asked her here again_? he wonders when they stop and he turns to face her. She has proven herself to be a capable (if reluctant) commander of late. She does not require advice from him, and their routes have already been carefully plotted.

"Be sure to stay just off the main roads to avoid detection," he tells her quietly anyway, hoping she will understand his need to speak privately one last time.

"Yes," she says again, shoulders tensed up around her ears, hands fidgeting uncertainly in front of her, eyes fixed to the ground. Brienne is the sort who can be standing mere feet from you and yet be leagues and leagues away. She lives in a fortress of her own making, with defenses impenetrable as steel unless one knows just where to strike.

"You are willing to be hanged in defense of me yet refuse to meet my gaze? Where is the brave wench I remember?"

Her eyes snap to his at his words, and he is equal parts gratified and amused by the anger he sees flashing in them (she is so like him in some ways). In a moment, though, they soften, and he sees the worry there that she has been trying to conceal.

"You will be careful, Ser," she tells him, although there is question in it as well.

"I will do what I must, Brienne."

"Yes." She looks away again. The last time they parted ways, she ended up completely ravaged by her vows and the war-torn lands. He does not want to leave her behind again, no more than she wishes to be left, but he has his own responsibilities to see to—as she has hers. He wishes for something to say to her, to convey that if he could he would choose to stay by her side.

Not for the first time, he imagines Tyrion hearing these thoughts and laughing himself silly over them. His only true companion left in the world is a giant, shy, homely warrior woman with a pure heart? His brother’s tears of glee at Jaime’s expense would most like be enough to fill the Blackwater Rush several times over.

_Mayhaps this was a bad idea,_ he thinks, as staring into her face is doing little but making him less and less willing to walk away from her. And what do they have to say to one another, really? There is an understanding between them. They need not speak of it.

They stay in place anyway, he staring openly at her face, her gaze darting between the bare trees behind him and what Jaime thinks must be his forehead. He is mesmerized by the frozen air rushing from between her thick, wide, lips. She may be ugly, but there is something about looking upon her which settles some of the restlessness inside him.

When they met just before their last parting of ways, in the white sword tower, he had given her a gift. Several gifts, in fact. He’d had some control, then, over his life. His father was alive; Cersei was still the pretty lie she had always been; he still had the love of his brother. The only gift he can think to bestow on her now is his honesty. Struggling to speak, he says thickly, "he is my _son_. I cannot stand idly by while—"

"I would _never_ ask anything of you that would bring you dishonor." She utters it like a vow, solemn and serious, and his mind drifts to a life he never lived, simple, honorable, just. It is too late for Jaime to hope to avoid dishonor now, and Brienne is the only person in all of his acquaintance who could believe otherwise.

"But do come back, Jaime," she adds, though saying so appears to bring her pain. After a moment she clarifies, "when you can. If you can. If it is your will."

She has surprised him yet again, damn her_. I will_, he nearly replies. _I will, I will return to you, Brienne. If my ghosts do not catch up to me first I will let them chase me back to you. _But he cannot bring himself to say the words. Jaime’s breathing quickens and he begins to feel dizzy. It is too much; _she_ is too much, this ridiculous, impossible woman. Barely aware of himself, he lunges toward her, but meets only air.

"What are you doing?" she asks, breathless, her face twisting into a suspicious scowl. She has jumped backward nearly half a dozen yards, to the edge of the clearing.

He should have expected this, but he confesses he truly had not. Even after all the terrors they have faced together, she still mistrusts him. The notion enrages him and he takes long, deliberate steps back into her space as he growls, "you stupid, stubborn, ugly, brave, honorable _bitch_. Will you just. Stand. _Still_?"

And then he slams his lips into hers.

For several heartbeats, it is like kissing a brick wall, her hard body taking on his weight like nothing, completely implacable. Her stiffness leads him to expect a swift kick in the ribs or twist to the arm, but nothing of the sort comes to pass. She simply stands there and lets his lips stroke hers, an animal spooked into stillness.

Hand on her face, he kisses her and kisses her, starting out hard and demanding, fueled by his pulsing rage, but slowly becoming something altogether different, softer, coaxing. When her lips start moving on his he sags against her in relief and sighs through his nose.

He lets his hand drift from her cheek to her hair and tilts his head further to get a better angle. His stump goes to her waist of its own accord and he shifts his body closer. Before this moment he would have laughed in the man’s face who claimed he craved the maid of Tarth in this way, but the only one laughing now is the voice of Tyrion that lives in Jaime’s mind.

Unable to contain himself, he opens his mouth and lets the tip of his tongue graze her lower lip. Brienne gasps and goes completely boneless in his arms, her mouth opening for him. He has never kissed anyone but Cersei before, not like this, and he has always been afraid that it would feel wrong somehow. But, oh, how sweet Brienne tastes, how warm and lovely she feels against him.

As his tongue swipes insistently against hers, her hands find their way to the backs of his shoulders, gently, hesitantly, and the contact makes him groan and pull her ever closer. _Yes_, he thinks. _Touch me. Please_. As if hearing his thoughts, Brienne starts lightly rubbing her big hands up and down his back, sending hot shivers up his spine. Then she grabs fistfuls of the sides of his tunic and pulls him flush against her, matching his own desperation.

When his cock, half-hard and aching, makes contact with her pelvis through their breeches, she lets out a feminine squeak. The foreign sound is what wrenches Jaime back into his own head, reminds him that he is treating with a highborn woman, a shy maiden despite her size and skill in battle. He breaks the kiss with a loud pop.

They end up nearly two feet apart, gaping at each other, both taking quick, heaving breaths. A search of her face reveals that she is utterly bewildered, eyes wide, cheeks and lips a deep red, hair askew. The site engenders in him an oddly heady mix of guilt and arousal.

“My lady,” he says once he has somewhat caught his breath, “forgive me."

“I,” she answers, sounding dazed, reaching a long, thick index finger to brush gently over her swollen lower lip, “oh. Of course.” She dips her head to stare at the ground and does not move for long seconds.

“I was taking liberties,” he reminds her. “I should not have done so.” Who is he trying to convince?

She looks up at him, finally. “Can you truly take something which was gladly given, Ser?”

If it were anyone else in the world saying these words to him, he would interpret the question as deliberately coy. Yet Brienne of Tarth is sincere—and she has made him want her again with a fierceness he cannot ignore. “Oh, bugger it all,” he says, stepping forward and reaching for her.

Once she is in his arms, though, his hand and stump at the small of her back and her hands on the backs of his shoulders, something shifts between them. It is as if their heads are floating through molasses instead of air, their lips move toward one another's so slowly. He glances at her eyes for a moment and they are dark and expectant and wanting, as he knows his own must be. Finally, finally, they inch close enough that his two lips close in on her bottom one, a spark of desire shooting through his entire—

A twig snaps in the distance and they fly apart once again. Sure enough, it is the first warning of approaching footsteps. A breath or two and the unknown person is upon them.

“Ser, my lady?” Podrick Payne addresses nervously as Jaime relaxes in relief. Had anyone else discovered them they certainly would have been able to tell exactly what he and Brienne have been up to. “Ser Hyle sent me to say that we are ready and, and, await your command.”

“Thank you, Pod,” Brienne calls, voice still breathy in astonishment.

“We cannot stand here forever, Brienne,” Jaime whispers to her so the boy cannot hear.

“_You_ requested words with _me_, Jaime,” she answers in the same low tone. “And I am still unsure what sort of message you wished to convey.”

What message indeed? Aside from the dozen or so bawdy jests that come to mind now, he supposes the answer is actually quite simple. “I am sorry to say so, but we are not like to come upon each other again, my lady.”

Despite her earlier pleas, she does not hesitate to agree. “No, we are not.”

“And I suppose I just wanted to say—” he pauses for a moment, smiling ruefully at her “—well met, Brienne of Tarth.”

Her answering smile is huge and unselfconscious. “Well met, Jaime,” she responds, laughter in her voice, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Now, Brienne, just because I have satisfied one or two of your maidenly curiosities, do not think to sit around swooning over me all of the time. These men need a commander, not a foolish young girl.”

Immediately she levels him a hard stare. “You should be getting on your way, Ser,” she half-jokes back in that dry way she has. “You have a long journey ahead.” Jaime decides that this is how he wants to remember Brienne: unkempt, freshly kissed, and looking upon him crossly.

He smiles at her again, nodding once, then twice, as he commits her to memory. Then they both turn toward Podrick, who is still standing at the other end of the clearing, staring at the ground. Silently, they follow him back. Very soon Jaime watches as Brienne leads her men north, and then he gives the call to his own to start their journey south.

Once they set off he does not look back, but the warm buzzing in his lips lingers well into the afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> :)  
I'm @newhumantype on tumblr btw


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